It For Me
by honeymoonspiders
Summary: She and Chuck had always been separated by a very thin line. After the night when, inspired by heartbreak, champagne, and lust, they had crossed that line it was clear that she had never meant to be with anybody else.


**It For Me**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Rating: T for language and a little hot'n'heavy-ness.

Author's Note: I'm not that happy with this one, but it just came out. I'd love some reviews. My next story is going to be a series of drabbles.

Enjoy!

Blair Waldorf knew a lot of things.

She knew that when she wanted to be, she was the pinnacle of grace and dignity. She knew how to bend her wrist when she was holding a champagne glass. She knew when it was appropriate to wear lace gloves, and which spoon to use when during a five course meal. She knew exactly what to say to compel people to do exactly what she wanted when she wanted it. She knew how to be in control.

Or at least, she used to know.

What Blair Waldorf did not know was how she had gotten into this situation.

Blair Waldorf was twenty-two years old and she was as miserable and as unhappy as she had ever been.

For the first time in three years, Blair seriously considered her future. Her years at Princeton had been blissful and carefree, spent edging herself slowly out of the prep-school bubble she had created for herself. Blair Waldorf was no longer the naïve girl of seventeen who had spent four days at a charming little agroturism in the middle of nowhere in the heart of the Italian countryside, waiting for someone to come burst her happy bubble. This Blair was older, wiser, and had a much thicker skin.

She squirmed uncomfortably on the bar stool– the leather was making her legs sticky in the sweltering summer heat. Her eyes flicked over to the digital clock on the wall. 9:46. Serena had stood her up.

Serena Van Der Woodsen was happy as a cloud; she had embraced her good looks and become a somewhat successful starlet. She was crazy in love with her boyfriend of one year, an aspiring hand model whose biggest claim to fame was having his pinky in a Grey Goose ad. Serena had gone through a dark phase after the end of high school; she had a miscarriage during her first semester at college when she hadn't even realized she was pregnant, and Blair had admired her for not cracking when the supposed love of her life, Dan, left her for the third and final time. So Blair forgave her for her absent-mindedness at times.

Blair turned her head to the left as a young couple came left the bar, the boy carrying the girl's purse as she texted away on her phone.

It was hard for Blair's thoughts not to lead her to Nate.

Nate Archibald had dropped out of college after one semester at Cornell and spent two years in Peru doing God-knows-what before coming back to New York for his father's funeral. He and Blair had had sex once in the coat check room at some party (whose Blair couldn't remember), because he was drunk and horny and she was just drunk. He said he was in love with her, she threw up all over his shoes.

Blair chuckled when she reminisced that in her pale, tortured, romantic days she thought that sex meant a life commitment and that Nate was the only person that she could ever be with.

Blair's past lovers translated into a string of Ken dolls and meaningless one night stands. Sex was release because it was meaningless, and a burden because it was meaningless.

She took a sip from her mojito and let her eyes wander around the bar. How many of these guys could she fuck if she wanted to? One, two, three…

She sighed and tossed her short brown hair. None of them would do. Truth is she had been terribly restless for three weeks, and she could boil it down to one thing and one thing only: the return of Charles Bass into her life.

They had not ended on a good note, savagely hating and loving each other, screaming.

She had seen him the obligatory four times a year every year for the past four years, when social duty called. Each time she saw him she suspected he reveled in torturing her, accidentally brushing his hand by her so that her shoulder burned for days later from his touch and something deep inside her would stir, the aching warmth of what used to be. He never failed to pierce her with his burning gaze that would make her squirm, uncomfortable and intrigued. They avoided each other as much as possible, each fearful of the other's feelings and the uncertainty that they created.

Blair would bury it, not because she was too proud to lust but because she knew that it would never be enough for her in the end. She wanted more, and he had never offered it. Well, he had only offered it once, but she had been seventeen and too stupid to notice his vulnerability.

One thing, however, she was not too stupid to notice. She and Chuck had always been separated by a very thin line. After the night when, inspired by heartbreak, champagne, and lust, they had crossed that line it was clear that she had never meant to be with anybody else.

She downed the end of her drink, careful to not let the ice cubes fall out of her glass. Outside, the New York air was hardly what you could call fresh. She breathed deeply and began her walk home.

"Going somewhere?"

A familiar voice broke her solitary reverie. She paused and turned towards the street, déjà vu washing over her.

Chuck Bass was leaning slightly out of the black window of his car, smirking. Of course, Blair thought.

She smirked back. He was even more attractive now than he had been at seventeen, with his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his slightly tousled hair, which she secretly preferred to the gelled look he'd been sporting recently.

"Yes, home."

"Would you like a ride?" he gestured. Blair raised an eyebrow. Was it an invitation or a threat? Chuck opened the car door.

"As long as that's not a double entendre," she said as she lowered herself onto the seat.

"Ah, Waldorf, you know me so well," he replied, eyeing her with his usual smirk. The line was old. The emotions it solicited in her were too.

He slid over to make room for her, using a suspicious amount of caution not to touch her. Blair looked over at him, conscious that he was eyeing her too. Blair knew her own power; she knew exactly how sexy she looked to him right then. Her short brown hair was slightly mussed, her deep purple dress hung off her curves in all the right ways, highlighting her long, tan, legs. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, sighing lightly and looking out the other window, leaning onto her hip. She felt him shift on the seat.

"How have you been?" he asked after a few minutes. She turned to look at him.

"Fantastic," she lied through her teeth. "Never better. And you?"

"The same I suppose."

The energy between them was palpable. With just a few words they had acknowledged the open door that they both knew, and yet would never admit, had never closed.

They said so little, and yet so much. Something in the atmosphere was shifting.

The rest of the trip passed in silence, until the car slowed and then came to a stop. They had reached Blair's building.

"Thanks for the ride, Chuck."

He held the door open for her. An uncharacteristic and uncomfortable move for him. Too gentlemanly. Her leg grazed his as he helped her out of the car. The heat when they touched was explosive, but Blair held herself under control (she was a lady after all), and stood to face him.

The expression on his face would have been unreadable to anyone but Blair. There she saw a reflection of the look that clearly was on her own face. A mixture of sheer lust, regret, passion, restraint, anger, and deep, undeniable, sick, consuming love. Everything that had been unspoken between them began to run up and down Blair's spine, forcing her lips open. She licked them and said,

"You are a sick bastard and a coward."

It was something she had said before, but had never meant it more. All the bimbos he had paraded in front of her, all of the hurtful things she said to him, all of the times they had kissed only out of anger hung like ghosts in the air between them.

He said nothing.

She turned to leave. She wouldn't cry. She didn't need or want to.

Blair turned back and said forcefully, "I would have married you at eighteen."

He still said nothing.

As always.

She turned around and left. As always. Their game would never get old.

Yet, this time she felt something was different. Maybe because she had felt completion when she had said those words. Maybe because she was lost and had no idea where to go from here. Maybe because she knew both things were true.

She wished he would run after her, sweep her up in his arms, tell her that he always loved her and that he never stopped thinking about her. That he wanted to marry her and be with her and that that was all that mattered. But he was Chuck Bass, and he was incorrigible, and she had long accepted that her fantasies were just that, fantasies.

It was then that she became conscious of the fact that the elevator was stopping on the second floor. The doors opened and in stepped Chuck Bass, panting and sweating as if he had just run a marathon. Blair started, then gave him an incredulous laugh. "Did you just run up the stairs?"

The look in his eyes wiped the smile off her face. He took two swift steps and pressed her into the elevator wall.

"I just ran up the fucking stairs. I _ran_ up the stairs. I didn't run up them for you to laugh at me, or for you to say anything so you better just listen to me and not say a fucking thing," he growled, inches from her face.

"You are the worst thing that has ever happened to me. You make me sick whenever I see you. You're a manipulative bitch, and if I could stop loving you for one _fucking_ minute, I would hate you. But I can't."

His gaze was so intense she felt crushed from the sheer force of his emotion. Her knees buckled as he touched her, even one soft finger on her face enough to make her crazy.

In one deft movement he pushed his hips up against hers, his hands on either side of her head, grinding her into the wall, making her gasp as her bare back made contact with the metal. He did not kiss her, only pinned her to the wall and ravished her with his eyes.

She made no thoughts as to resisting him. It was all much too simple from this point forward, a thought that was at once delicious and terrifying.

The soft ring of the stopped elevator brought her back. Chuck put his hand on the back of Blair's thigh, and hoisting up so that she was straddling him. Her quickened breathing left him with no doubt as to what she wanted. He walked into her apartment, and as soon as he felt the door close behind him, he turned and once again pushed her hard against the wall, the pressure in his pants increasing. She moaned, barely resisting the urge to attack him with furious kisses. She had never wanted him more, but he was showing a little too much restraint for her taste.

Blair wanted his desire to equal hers, so she leaned into him and whispered seductively in his ear, grinding her hips into his: "I want you to fuck me."

Chuck groaned softly. It was almost too much for him to control himself. But he wouldn't let her win. Not this one.

His eyes never leaving hers, he replied "Only on one condition."

"And what's that?" she asked breathlessly, racked with anticipation. At this point, she was ready for anything. He dropped her and stood in front of her, their bodies still touching but a very different need filling the air. He traced one finger from her jaw line to her lips.

"That you tell me you love me."

There he was again, the same Chuck she had been in love with at seventeen. Offering. Open. And now, maybe, ready. She pushed him a few inches away from her, and stood in front of him. She ran her fingers up the back of his neck, looked into his eyes, and whispered with an earnestness few people had ever seen come from her "You are the only man I have ever loved."

He needed no more encouragement. His mouth crashed against hers. There was no tentative, tender kiss in a dark room here, there was no hesitation, no doubt. Only the fire of two people who are meant to be together and finally know it. Years of frustration, one night stands, slipped away as their eyes met for a second, just long enough to erase any uncertainty.

She moaned into his mouth as she felt her desire heightening, giving in to the unbridled passion overtaking her. They fell onto the couch and she straddled him, his fingers tangled up in her hair, his hot tongue invading her mouth, his hands snaking up her back and around her waist, pulling her even closer.

Suddenly they were seventeen again, making out roughly on the couch at a party, hiding from clueless Nate. Then they were twenty-two, still young but maybe a little less stupid.

Afterwards, as they lay half-clothed on the floor, Chuck rolled over, leaning onto his elbow. She looked beautiful. Face slightly flushed, hair a mess, her dress bunched up over her stomach, revealing her breasts. He traced her collarbone with his free hand. Blair smiled, eyes closed. She wriggled out of her dress, and turned towards him, smiling coyly.

If Chuck died, this would be his heaven; Blair Waldorf lying naked in front of him on the living room floor. He smiled and softly kissed her.

The phone rang, breaking the peace between them. Blair groaned, got up and went to go look for her purse, which had been dropped by the door, contents spilled everywhere.

"Don't answer that, come back here," Chuck called to her.

She glanced at the caller ID. It was Serena. She glanced back over at Chuck, who was busy admiring her naked figure from the back. "I have to take this, it's your sister."

"Serena? No, no, it's fine. Don't worry about it, I know you're busy. I understand…"

Suddenly she felt Chuck's hands on her naked hips and his hot breath in her ear, and she nearly dropped the phone, at which Chuck took the opportunity to grab it from her.

"Excuse me sis, could you cut the girl talk until later? I'd like to spend every minute of tonight inside this little brunette you just called."

Blair could hear Serena's cries of shock as Chuck dropped the phone on the coffee table.

"That should keep her head spinning for a while," Chuck said, reveling in the mixture of embarrassment and joy plastered on Blair's face. He grabbed her and pulled her into a fervent, hot, passionate kiss. Blair loved what Chuck did to her, even when he just kissed her. It was as if he was making the best kind of love to her with his mouth. As much as Chuck made her weak at the knees, she somehow pulled away.

"Not so fast, Romeo. We need to talk about this. T-take it slow?"

"Oh, I can do slow…" Chuck purred in her ear, running one finger down to her hip, sending shivers up her spine. It was all she could do to resist him.

"No, Chuck! Us. Slow. Us. Slow. We messed it up so badly enough last time. This… this was never our problem," Blair said forcefully.

Chuck refused to let go of her, keeping her body flesh to his. He brought one hand to her face and tipped up her chin so she was looking him square in the eye.

"Blair, I'm done taking it slow. Last time we took it slow we fucked up so badly that it took us two years to look each other in the eye again."

Blair looked down again. She knew he was right.

Chuck made her look at him again. "Blair, look at me."

She couldn't.

"Look at me!" he said in a whispered scream. She forced herself to look up.

"For me, it has always been you. When I say I'm done taking it slow, I mean it. I want you, all of you, every inch of you, only for me."

She let out a strangled laugh.

"So what exactly are you offering, Chuck? A retrospective on Blair and Chuck, the early years? All we ever did was hurt each other. An easy fuck? Marriage? What?"

He sighed in frustration, dropping his hand and stepping away from her. She grabbed his shirt to cover herself with. Even without looking at her Chuck always made her feel far too naked. She regretted her words. Why did she always have this penchant for screwing herself over in her happiest moments?

He took a few strides towards the window, running his hands through his hair and making unintelligible noises of frustration.

"Chuck…" she mustered.

"Shut up. I'm thinking," came from his back.

Finally he turned around.

"How much clearer would you like me to be, Blair? You know I don't to this mushy shit, it's not who I am."

Blair nodded, not able to look at him. He sighed.

"Then again, it's disgusting just how mushy you make me. Rivers of mush. Disgusting puddles of muddy mush dribbling..." he shuddered visibly.

She giggled. He stopped himself. He sighed again and threw up his hands.

"Blair, I fucking _love_ you. This is it for me. You're it for me! When I say I want you, I mean I want you, naked, in my bed every night for the rest of my life. And when we wake up in the morning, I want you there. I want you, I need you, I love you. You're the cheese to my macaroni and all that corny shit. Buy a Hallmark card."

Blair Waldorf knew a lot of things, and in that moment she forgot them all.

All that she knew was that this was Charles Bartholomew Bass… her Charles Bartholomew Bass, telling her what she'd been waiting so long to hear. She barely registered him kissing her again, and her muffled I love you too into his mouth was enough.

Blair was twenty-two years old and she was as happy and as sure as she had ever been.

Thirty very sweaty minutes later.

"So no taking it slow."

"I think I can be okay with that."

"We have the rest of our lives to take it slow."

Author's note: Thanks for reading! Review if you wish :)


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